It is a quiet morning. Memorial Day. I'm up early to try to get everything done, and instead I'm drinking coffee and reading the internet. I was just browsing around on my little cousin's website, www.jaisgossman.com. He's an artist and an art student at the Chicago Art Institute. He's doing a lot of performance art lately. He did one piece about Abu Ghraib that referred to an image that came to represent the events there. The hooded man, with his arms outstretched. Photos of the performance are on his website.
When my sister and I were in Chicago we visited Jais. He was showing us around his dorm and the studio spaces and he showed us these photos, and it was a very weird moment. He brought up the picture of himself standing on Michigan Avenue, hooded, arms outstretched. I thought thoughts like, oh, he must be death or something. I didn't say anything, but something of my cluelessness must have been obvious. My sister turned to me and explained what Jais was referring to. She had to tell me that he was enacting an infamous image from Abu Ghraib. I had never seen it before.
Isn't that something?
How many years have gone by and I didn't have the visual? It's not that I'm not aware of the place, the torture, the trials, the horror of it. I heard about it. But, I never saw any of it. Frankly, who would want to? And this is all a result of how I have chosen to live at the moment, media free but for NPR. I leave the country and bury myself in the blissful coldness of Mars and never pay any attention for months at a time.
Today I'm asking myself if that's ok. I don't have the visuals, but I know about the events. Does it matter? Do images help to understand? Really? Or is it good enough to intellectually know? How removed am I from my times and my culture if I can't read the shared images? If I'm visually illiterate?
Just now I goggled Abu Ghraib to make sure I had the right spelling. The images came up. The real ones. And they are horrifying. Way more horrifying than what I have in my head.
Do we have to see information to know it?
Can I truly feel the impact of events without seeing them?
Do I make the right choice not to look?
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Notes off the Desk
I am cleaning my desk at home. My relatives are coming this week, and I might as well look presentable. Here are all the little notes off the desk before I throw them away.
This first bunch are from a meeting I had in Madison in March.
Blog About:
* The starfish phone and the disembodied voice.
* The people who make you be most you. How Ellen brings out ALL of me - not just work me or social me. She can see all of me.
* Sense of Place and being called to a place.
* My beginning with Cube and Hutch and how far back I went with this project.
* About Madison.
* Changing the memories of Chicago and reclaiming places that were painful in the past, MN and Chicago.
* Recount the early AM and watching the sun rise over the capital. The determined feeling of living here.
* What is it I am looking for here?
Then I have a column on the same piece of paper titled "Muse About"
* Core values
* Ask BK where I should focus my attention with classes. Where do I want to go?
* Sitting on boards for art projects.
* What work do I really like to do?
* Do I want a PMP?
* What is the nature of management vs. project management?
* Review my volunteerism. Habitat for Humanity?
* What are my core competencies? What could be strengthened?
* What interests me? Outside and inside my life?
* Where is the confidence in my voice? When does it come? What am I talking about?
* What are the skills I feel I don't have?
* Where do I bug myself?
On the back of this page I wrote notes about the HBO characters:
Scene in lounge needs a connection to the RPSC side. They are a gang of white guys.
Characteristics of JH: He can keep every small detail in his head. Sits in meetings w/out notes. Confident - no job fear. Playful. Razor sharp wit.
Here are more from the pile . . . most aren't dated.
Blog about regaining the desire to learn.
Blog about my station self that is actually a hologram that is part of the building and not actually a separate being.
Blog about why are we not the 1960's.
Blog about admitting what is happening to us and the words retool, fall back and regroup. Feeling the advent of all my new skills in the face of my new boss.
Blog about leadership, the glow inside all of us, and the phrase "Talk at you later."
(Dated 2 May 2008) Blog about changing blogs, about difference between needing to jump start my creativity and self expression and now needing to noodle through where I am and what I am thinking about. Where I want to be going. Moved to do self help and I couldn't speak freely with the past readership. Hidden blog . . .
Journal about options, HBO, Hutch, This, PMO Training.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Blog about varience class and my new reaction to the information since getting away from scheduling. How long it took for this stuff to make sense and mean anything. How I had to move closer to management to make any of this mean anything. How hysterical I was at the transition to the PMO.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Think about the concept of bubbling up. Relax into the truths I am feeling. Admit my shit.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Blog about the PMO trainer. Tea pot method of presentation. Pounding on the table. Voice raise.
Most recently:
* Blog about conservative bullies and how I was just talked to at work.
* Blog about NPR painting a grand picture of doom, veggie story this morning.
* The gloom that is hanging all over me.
* Reading my book with no triumph of human greatness.
* The Reagan reference in the training, also Colin Powell, Thatcher and Roosevelt.
* Blog about how the NPP failure freaked me out about leadership.
The next three are quotes I wrote down while watching movies:
From Philadelphia Story:
Sidney Kidd: "I understand we understand each other."
Dexter: "Quite."
From Joe vs the Volcano:
"Dear God, who's name I do not know. Thank you for my life. I forgot . . . how . . . BIG. Thank you. Thank you for my life" -- Joe Banks.
Patricia: "Joe, nobody knows anything. We'll take this leap and we'll see. We'll jump and we'll see. That's life."
Joe Banks: "What are we hoping for here?"
Patricia: "A miracle."
This first bunch are from a meeting I had in Madison in March.
Blog About:
* The starfish phone and the disembodied voice.
* The people who make you be most you. How Ellen brings out ALL of me - not just work me or social me. She can see all of me.
* Sense of Place and being called to a place.
* My beginning with Cube and Hutch and how far back I went with this project.
* About Madison.
* Changing the memories of Chicago and reclaiming places that were painful in the past, MN and Chicago.
* Recount the early AM and watching the sun rise over the capital. The determined feeling of living here.
* What is it I am looking for here?
Then I have a column on the same piece of paper titled "Muse About"
* Core values
* Ask BK where I should focus my attention with classes. Where do I want to go?
* Sitting on boards for art projects.
* What work do I really like to do?
* Do I want a PMP?
* What is the nature of management vs. project management?
* Review my volunteerism. Habitat for Humanity?
* What are my core competencies? What could be strengthened?
* What interests me? Outside and inside my life?
* Where is the confidence in my voice? When does it come? What am I talking about?
* What are the skills I feel I don't have?
* Where do I bug myself?
On the back of this page I wrote notes about the HBO characters:
Scene in lounge needs a connection to the RPSC side. They are a gang of white guys.
Characteristics of JH: He can keep every small detail in his head. Sits in meetings w/out notes. Confident - no job fear. Playful. Razor sharp wit.
Here are more from the pile . . . most aren't dated.
Blog about regaining the desire to learn.
Blog about my station self that is actually a hologram that is part of the building and not actually a separate being.
Blog about why are we not the 1960's.
Blog about admitting what is happening to us and the words retool, fall back and regroup. Feeling the advent of all my new skills in the face of my new boss.
Blog about leadership, the glow inside all of us, and the phrase "Talk at you later."
(Dated 2 May 2008) Blog about changing blogs, about difference between needing to jump start my creativity and self expression and now needing to noodle through where I am and what I am thinking about. Where I want to be going. Moved to do self help and I couldn't speak freely with the past readership. Hidden blog . . .
Journal about options, HBO, Hutch, This, PMO Training.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Blog about varience class and my new reaction to the information since getting away from scheduling. How long it took for this stuff to make sense and mean anything. How I had to move closer to management to make any of this mean anything. How hysterical I was at the transition to the PMO.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Think about the concept of bubbling up. Relax into the truths I am feeling. Admit my shit.
(Dated 16 May 2008) Blog about the PMO trainer. Tea pot method of presentation. Pounding on the table. Voice raise.
Most recently:
* Blog about conservative bullies and how I was just talked to at work.
* Blog about NPR painting a grand picture of doom, veggie story this morning.
* The gloom that is hanging all over me.
* Reading my book with no triumph of human greatness.
* The Reagan reference in the training, also Colin Powell, Thatcher and Roosevelt.
* Blog about how the NPP failure freaked me out about leadership.
The next three are quotes I wrote down while watching movies:
From Philadelphia Story:
Sidney Kidd: "I understand we understand each other."
Dexter: "Quite."
From Joe vs the Volcano:
"Dear God, who's name I do not know. Thank you for my life. I forgot . . . how . . . BIG. Thank you. Thank you for my life" -- Joe Banks.
Patricia: "Joe, nobody knows anything. We'll take this leap and we'll see. We'll jump and we'll see. That's life."
Joe Banks: "What are we hoping for here?"
Patricia: "A miracle."
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Walk Around
I smell bad. I smell really, really bad. And I love it!
Today it’s hot and clear and beautiful. It’s probably 80 or more. The breeze is blowing around and making the fan in the bed room turn. I’ve had a glorious day.
I woke up late and finished the laundry. I wrote in my journal. I went and bought some hanging plants for the back. I made a delicious, fresh chopped salad with eggs and apples and onions. I walked to the grocery and bought produce. I made up hamburger patties to freeze. And I took a walk around the neighborhood.
Fat arms look better tan, so I shamelessly wore a strappy tank top and cropped pants. Brazen, I know. I put my greasy, two day old hair all the way up so my back would benefit from the sun. I got a piece of gum and a Kleenex (trademark) and set forth. I walked down the green space path towards the park. I saw several groups of little bitty kids digging around and one little girl in a pink dress and bike helmet yelled from the hill, “Hello!” and waved an enthusiastic greeting to me.
At the park was a teenaged boy baseball game, with parents and siblings sprawled all over in lawn chairs. Past the game was a beautiful, sporty gal trying to fly her kite. Her boyfriend across the field was laughing at her. A gorgeous young man flew by on a mountain bike, shirtless.
As I rounded the corner to the play area, there was a group of boys and dads. They were clustered together by the trashcans. All the boys had white somethings in their hands. As I got closer I saw they had each fashioned a blow gun out of PVC pipes, wildly pieced together in bends and turns. In their hands were sandwich baggies full of marshmallows. The dads were positively giddy, grinning at me as I pasted. “I’ll be your ammo man,” one declared. “Thunk,” and a marshmallow whacked up against the metal can. “Ha, ha, ha. That was great!”
It was hilarious.
Then I moved on to my favorite part of the walk. Behind the tennis courts and over by the stream. It was flowing pretty well, after a week of rain. The water sounded wonderful. The wind brought wet grass smell and tree blossom to me. My hair tendrils flew around and stuck to my lip gloss.
Now I’m home, reddening from the sun, smelling of dirt in sweat and old sandal feet. I’m gooey and earthy and sun baked, and I couldn’t be happier.
Outside is so lovely when you need it. It’s so fresh and real and wonderful.
Today it’s hot and clear and beautiful. It’s probably 80 or more. The breeze is blowing around and making the fan in the bed room turn. I’ve had a glorious day.
I woke up late and finished the laundry. I wrote in my journal. I went and bought some hanging plants for the back. I made a delicious, fresh chopped salad with eggs and apples and onions. I walked to the grocery and bought produce. I made up hamburger patties to freeze. And I took a walk around the neighborhood.
Fat arms look better tan, so I shamelessly wore a strappy tank top and cropped pants. Brazen, I know. I put my greasy, two day old hair all the way up so my back would benefit from the sun. I got a piece of gum and a Kleenex (trademark) and set forth. I walked down the green space path towards the park. I saw several groups of little bitty kids digging around and one little girl in a pink dress and bike helmet yelled from the hill, “Hello!” and waved an enthusiastic greeting to me.
At the park was a teenaged boy baseball game, with parents and siblings sprawled all over in lawn chairs. Past the game was a beautiful, sporty gal trying to fly her kite. Her boyfriend across the field was laughing at her. A gorgeous young man flew by on a mountain bike, shirtless.
As I rounded the corner to the play area, there was a group of boys and dads. They were clustered together by the trashcans. All the boys had white somethings in their hands. As I got closer I saw they had each fashioned a blow gun out of PVC pipes, wildly pieced together in bends and turns. In their hands were sandwich baggies full of marshmallows. The dads were positively giddy, grinning at me as I pasted. “I’ll be your ammo man,” one declared. “Thunk,” and a marshmallow whacked up against the metal can. “Ha, ha, ha. That was great!”
It was hilarious.
Then I moved on to my favorite part of the walk. Behind the tennis courts and over by the stream. It was flowing pretty well, after a week of rain. The water sounded wonderful. The wind brought wet grass smell and tree blossom to me. My hair tendrils flew around and stuck to my lip gloss.
Now I’m home, reddening from the sun, smelling of dirt in sweat and old sandal feet. I’m gooey and earthy and sun baked, and I couldn’t be happier.
Outside is so lovely when you need it. It’s so fresh and real and wonderful.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Cake
I can no longer eat cake.
For three years . . . more if you count Floyd . . . I have been watching people leave the Program and each and every one of them gets caked. Today, Christine got bageled, but she's the rare exception.
And now, because it started with the first few, every one of the departing gets framed photos around which everyone signs, and plaques and figurines and parties and drinks after work. And we collect money for more presents and we sign cards and we are forced to pay witness . . . and eat the fucking cake.
And there have been so many -- hundreds of people leaving . . . seven last week alone -- that I can't do it anymore. I can't eat one more slab of cake.
And because there have been so many, none of it means anything. People receive their expected signed mat photo and they make a speech about how hard it is for them to leave the program and how special it has all been, and we all nod and smile -- and no one cares! The departing want to run out of the building and the rest of us are just fed up being left behind to somehow figure out how to keep it going.
I won't do it.
No more cake.
For three years . . . more if you count Floyd . . . I have been watching people leave the Program and each and every one of them gets caked. Today, Christine got bageled, but she's the rare exception.
And now, because it started with the first few, every one of the departing gets framed photos around which everyone signs, and plaques and figurines and parties and drinks after work. And we collect money for more presents and we sign cards and we are forced to pay witness . . . and eat the fucking cake.
And there have been so many -- hundreds of people leaving . . . seven last week alone -- that I can't do it anymore. I can't eat one more slab of cake.
And because there have been so many, none of it means anything. People receive their expected signed mat photo and they make a speech about how hard it is for them to leave the program and how special it has all been, and we all nod and smile -- and no one cares! The departing want to run out of the building and the rest of us are just fed up being left behind to somehow figure out how to keep it going.
I won't do it.
No more cake.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Owning Our Shit
For the third week in a row, my Safeway is out of Tofu. My friend who's working in Alaska wrote recently that rice is hard to find in Fairbanks. Gas prices are climbing. The housing market is fucked. NPR is reporting on a world wide food shortage.
Don't you think that it's about time we admit what we have done?
That destroying countries and sustaining two big wars, and bombing little countries in Africa might start taking a toll on normal? In World War II they collected tires and rationed meat.
When will we admit that we made this mess?
Maybe it's good that we are starting to feel it . . . Then maybe we might do something to make it go away.
Don't you think that it's about time we admit what we have done?
That destroying countries and sustaining two big wars, and bombing little countries in Africa might start taking a toll on normal? In World War II they collected tires and rationed meat.
When will we admit that we made this mess?
Maybe it's good that we are starting to feel it . . . Then maybe we might do something to make it go away.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Changed Landscape
Here's the deal . . . my life landscape has changed. And it's done so rather quickly. There are several things happening at once. The good ones are personal. The scary, professional.
The Good . . . I am trying to become The Woman I Want to Be. This includes exercising more seriously and more frequently. So far, I have LOST weight since I've been off the ice, which never happens. Usually by May, I have gained 10 pounds. I am teaching myself new things, mainly quilting, which is bringing me a new kind of zen joy I never would have imagined. I am saving money, recycling more, buying less, taking my lunch to work, cooking real food, conserving water, and taking myself seriously. All the things The Woman I Want to Be would do. Personally, I feel more and more on top of my game.
The Scary . . . My work situation has CHANGED. My boss just quit. It was time. She had fought a good fight, and now she has a great opportunity. It will give her more time to be with the people she loves. It's the right thing. But, it has left a HUGE, sucking hole in her wake. My desk is right outside her old office and the whole area of the building is now dim. She is a natural born leader. Fair and kind and competent and capable . . . and she glows. She glows a bright yellow light out of her middle. I shit you not. She glows yellow. And now she's not around. Before she ascended into the job, there was another great woman in the position. South Pole had a really great run there, for what? . . . Seven years?
And now, the heir apparent is a guy. An engineer guy who's heart is probably in the right place, but who doesn't seem up to the task. His personal life is messy and keeps him away from the office several afternoons a week and every other Friday. He has never been able to keep up with all his emails and get things done on time. His powers of observation are about as sharp as a blind lump of clay. Now he's about to step into the most challenging role in the group. A role that is 24/7 on call. A role that manages an entire city of responsibility, caked in a mess of political negotiation. A role that requires multitasking, people skills, baby sitting, and state department level decision making (Literally. State Department). And here's this guy who doesn't and can't and . . . I could go on and on about him, but that's not really the point.
The point is . . . South Pole has changed. And it's dim and scary and dull and sad right this minute.
To add another layer of difficulty . . . on Friday I found out my ex-great-boss' pretty great boss has resigned in frustration as well. So, the only hope for someone capable enough to help lead the new guy through it, is now leaving.
You see, my company's contract with the NSF has two years left. After that, we will most likely change hands. The possibility is high that a new contractor would hire most of us on. Not the tall poppies, but the worker people. They wouldn't be able to fire everyone and find 2,000 new people who could waltz in and run Antarctica. But, that situation is coloring the whole place gray. People are bailing on all sides, jumping out of this sinking ship. For those of us who are choosing to stay, there is a mood that it no longer matters. Two years? We can endure this hell for two more years. We can live through anything for two years.
But, can I?
There's the big question. Can I live through what will surely become chaos for two years . . . still love the work I do and the program itself . . . and ready myself for the next contractor? And what does "ready myself" mean?
Here's what became true this past week . . . I realized I want to ascend. I want to know more about the big picture of this . . . and I would love to make some decisions about the future. I want to spend these two miserable, dead years preparing myself to take over. I don't want it now . . . because Directors are lopped off . . . but I want to be ready when the new opportunities come.
And that's kind of new for me.
I still want to write the HBO series and weld and garden and run a foundation and move to Wisconsin . . . but none of that will pay the bills right now. I work here. I work here. And I need to make it work for me. I need to learn new things and stretch a bit.
And, I'm trying to make that not feel like a cop out. So many folks around me are writing their new chapters elsewhere. Can I write a new chapter by staying put?
The Good . . . I am trying to become The Woman I Want to Be. This includes exercising more seriously and more frequently. So far, I have LOST weight since I've been off the ice, which never happens. Usually by May, I have gained 10 pounds. I am teaching myself new things, mainly quilting, which is bringing me a new kind of zen joy I never would have imagined. I am saving money, recycling more, buying less, taking my lunch to work, cooking real food, conserving water, and taking myself seriously. All the things The Woman I Want to Be would do. Personally, I feel more and more on top of my game.
The Scary . . . My work situation has CHANGED. My boss just quit. It was time. She had fought a good fight, and now she has a great opportunity. It will give her more time to be with the people she loves. It's the right thing. But, it has left a HUGE, sucking hole in her wake. My desk is right outside her old office and the whole area of the building is now dim. She is a natural born leader. Fair and kind and competent and capable . . . and she glows. She glows a bright yellow light out of her middle. I shit you not. She glows yellow. And now she's not around. Before she ascended into the job, there was another great woman in the position. South Pole had a really great run there, for what? . . . Seven years?
And now, the heir apparent is a guy. An engineer guy who's heart is probably in the right place, but who doesn't seem up to the task. His personal life is messy and keeps him away from the office several afternoons a week and every other Friday. He has never been able to keep up with all his emails and get things done on time. His powers of observation are about as sharp as a blind lump of clay. Now he's about to step into the most challenging role in the group. A role that is 24/7 on call. A role that manages an entire city of responsibility, caked in a mess of political negotiation. A role that requires multitasking, people skills, baby sitting, and state department level decision making (Literally. State Department). And here's this guy who doesn't and can't and . . . I could go on and on about him, but that's not really the point.
The point is . . . South Pole has changed. And it's dim and scary and dull and sad right this minute.
To add another layer of difficulty . . . on Friday I found out my ex-great-boss' pretty great boss has resigned in frustration as well. So, the only hope for someone capable enough to help lead the new guy through it, is now leaving.
You see, my company's contract with the NSF has two years left. After that, we will most likely change hands. The possibility is high that a new contractor would hire most of us on. Not the tall poppies, but the worker people. They wouldn't be able to fire everyone and find 2,000 new people who could waltz in and run Antarctica. But, that situation is coloring the whole place gray. People are bailing on all sides, jumping out of this sinking ship. For those of us who are choosing to stay, there is a mood that it no longer matters. Two years? We can endure this hell for two more years. We can live through anything for two years.
But, can I?
There's the big question. Can I live through what will surely become chaos for two years . . . still love the work I do and the program itself . . . and ready myself for the next contractor? And what does "ready myself" mean?
Here's what became true this past week . . . I realized I want to ascend. I want to know more about the big picture of this . . . and I would love to make some decisions about the future. I want to spend these two miserable, dead years preparing myself to take over. I don't want it now . . . because Directors are lopped off . . . but I want to be ready when the new opportunities come.
And that's kind of new for me.
I still want to write the HBO series and weld and garden and run a foundation and move to Wisconsin . . . but none of that will pay the bills right now. I work here. I work here. And I need to make it work for me. I need to learn new things and stretch a bit.
And, I'm trying to make that not feel like a cop out. So many folks around me are writing their new chapters elsewhere. Can I write a new chapter by staying put?
A New Way to Mark Time
My sister blogs and she has changed blogs several times. I never really got that until I needed to change my own. I got to a point where I had all kinds of notes all over about things I wanted to blog about, but I just couldn't get them up. I couldn't picture them on that blue back ground, knowing who would be reading them. And now I realize why we have to change up sometimes . . . blogs mark time and mark periods of our lives and when we come to the end of one, we must start another.
I put Putting It Out There up because I needed a creative outlet. I needed to jump start my zombified brain and remember that I had things to say and a unique way of seeing the world. And it worked for that. Worked very well. It also helped me frame experiences, give events in my life a beginning, middle and end. But now it won't work for me because I'm done with that need. Now, when so much of my life seems up in the air, I need a self help board. I need a place where I can whine about the loss of my very best boss. Where I can muse about possible futures and where I can bemoan the next hard laps. And that just wasn't what Putting It Out There was all about.
I chose the title of this blog because I very much feel like I'm standing near the edge of the cliff and I'm about to turn, walk towards it, open my arms and jump. I just don't know where I'm jumping to.
I guess we'll find out together.
I put Putting It Out There up because I needed a creative outlet. I needed to jump start my zombified brain and remember that I had things to say and a unique way of seeing the world. And it worked for that. Worked very well. It also helped me frame experiences, give events in my life a beginning, middle and end. But now it won't work for me because I'm done with that need. Now, when so much of my life seems up in the air, I need a self help board. I need a place where I can whine about the loss of my very best boss. Where I can muse about possible futures and where I can bemoan the next hard laps. And that just wasn't what Putting It Out There was all about.
I chose the title of this blog because I very much feel like I'm standing near the edge of the cliff and I'm about to turn, walk towards it, open my arms and jump. I just don't know where I'm jumping to.
I guess we'll find out together.
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